


spider

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will Graham, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Eating, Come Marking, Consensual Infidelity, Creampie, Dark Will Graham, Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, Necrophilia, Organ Fucking, Organs, Possessive Behavior, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will Graham, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham is a Cannibal, organ harvesting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 20:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18415127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: Hannibal likes his kills clean. Will likes them messy.





	spider

Hannibal sighs through his nose, tipping back the last dregs of wine as he watches Will take the hand of the man he's been sitting with at the bar for the better part of an hour. It takes everything in him to merely sit, and watch, as Will throws his head back in a sharp, loud laugh, pets up the man's arm and gently touches his fingers to the man's shoulder. After so long being with Will, learning his mannerisms and movements, such a display is practically obscene. Will isn't a whore, but he postures brazenly, his thighs wide-spread on his bar stool, his free elbow braced on the edge of the dark, gleaming wood.

He is the prettiest lure in the place, and he's caught his fish; hook, line, sinker.

The man – Hannibal calls him 'John' in his head, because it's what they call men who look and prey upon pretty things like Will – smiles, and leans in. He's a young-looking man, with the beginnings of a gut hinting at a slowing metabolism, but still dainty enough to be pretty in his own right. He's a lithe thing, attractive enough, Hannibal supposes, if he had the inclination to notice something like that. It's not like anything could compare to his sweet Will.

John takes Will's chin in hand and Hannibal's fingers tighten around his glass to suddenly, he fears he might break it. He lets it go, sets the empty glass down, and glowers down at Will's silhouette as Will flattens a hand on John's thigh, slides it up, leans in with low lashes and his pink mouth spread wide.

Hannibal doesn't enjoy this part – watching Will pick out his quarry, watching him synchronize himself to their wants and desires. If they want him forceful and dominant, he can do that. If they prefer him sweet and flirty, he performs just as well. John, it seems, likes Will thirsty.

John covers Will's hand with his own, slides it in, and Hannibal can't see from the angle what he's doing, but it's not difficult to guess. He watches with growing outrage as Will bites his lip, flutters his lashes like he's drunk on the feeling of John's erection beneath his palm.

Will stands, and finishes his beer, slides his hand across John's shoulders and circles him as he follows suit. Will's eyes lift, and their gazes meet, and Will meets him with a smile that is so wide it dimples his cheeks, shows his teeth. Hannibal gives him a nod.

John stands, and Will takes his hand again, lets John paw at him as they move towards the front door, where the parking lot stretches beyond, and they will go to Will's car, and drive to the place they rented just for this – a comfortable suite in an apartment with a view of the river in the city. Open plan; no places to hide.

Hannibal waits, until he hears an engine rev, wheels screeching as the car peels away in a way Will only does when he's eager to hunt, and he stands, leaves a bill on the table for the tab, and follows.

 

 

By the time he gets to their apartment, and lets himself in silently, he hears mattress springs creaking and loud, heavy moans. He snarls to himself, but it is not quite an angry thing – frustration with himself, more like, for allowing himself to idle so long. Traffic had not been as kind to him as it was to them, apparently.

He goes to the open bedroom door, sees Will and John entwined, both of them bare and shining with sweat. John is on top of Will, riding him eagerly, his head thrown back and eyes closed as Will grabs his hips and snarls, heels planted so he can fuck up harder into John's body.

Will's eyes flash, and his attention turns, he meets Hannibal's eyes and smiles widely, again, off-kilter and savage. "Fuck, baby," he purrs, and though Hannibal knows the words aren't entirely for his benefit, the tone, the look in Will's eyes, is all for him. "That's it, you feel so Goddamn good, _fuck_."

John moans, driving his hips down against Will's fiercely, stroking his cock. Hannibal's nostrils flare, taking in the scent of Will's prey – he is sweet with pleasure, his pulse rushing finely beneath his skin, flushed to the surface. Hannibal smells on him no disease, no contamination. He will make a fine meal.

He takes off his coat, folds it silently, and sets it down on the dresser by the door. From his waistcoat pocket, he takes out his knife.

Will's lashes flutter, his lips parting in a soundless moan as John whines, rolling his hips. Hannibal knows Will is a capable lover, at least with him, but with his kills he's lazy. He likes to make them work for it, likes their muscles supple and soft, likes their skin softened with sweat, their hair wet with it. Likes to see them black-eyed and red-cheeked, the so-willing fly in the spider's lair.

Will grins when John's eyes open, and he pets up John's flanks, keeping his attention on Will. "You gonna come, baby?" he murmurs, and John nods weakly, lets out a sweet, soft sound. It's much like the noise Will makes when Hannibal fucks him. "That's it, good boy." Will's hand drops, wrapping around John's on his cock. "Come for me."

John trembles, moans loud and long as he stiffens, throws his head back again – and now he looks the whore, a slave to his passion, and Will smiles and settles as John presses his lips together, nostrils flared, and spills over their joined hands.

Hannibal strikes in that moment. Will was courteous enough this time to keep them towards the end of the bed, so Hannibal does not have to climb atop it as he flattens a hand over John's forehead, tilts him back as John cries out in alarm, and slits his throat cleanly along the carotid and jugular.

Blood sprays out in a thick arc over Will, and he pants, eyes low-lidded and face turned up to receive it. He is open-mouthed, gasping, as John's blood splatters over his chest, his belly, his face and neck, soaking into his hair, onto the bed. Hannibal likes his kills clean. Will likes them messy.

Hannibal holds John upright, as he sags, the last of his breath leaving him in a rattling sigh. He smiles at Will over the man's shoulder – he no longer needs a name, after all – and Will licks his lips, lifts his hand to suck his fingers clean, and gives Hannibal an impish grin.

"Kind of you to let him finish, this time," he says.

Hannibal smiles back at him, and ducks his head, pressing his nose to the sluggishly-bleeding wound on the man's neck. "Orgasm makes them sweeter," he murmurs. Will nods, eyes dark with understanding. He bites his lower lip, rolls his hips, fucking through warm meat and limp flesh, and shivers.

"I was close, too," he says.

Hannibal's smile widens, and he corrects his grip, holding the carcass by the neck to keep it upright, his other hand still holding the knife and dragging the tip idly down the center of its chest. "Don't let me stop you."

Will gasps, but doesn't protest. His hands settle back on the man's hips, where he is a little thicker than Will, gathering weight in his growing age. Will, in comparison, is all sharp angles and smooth lines; strong where he needs to be, ruthless everywhere else, as pretty and efficiently-made as an automatic weapon.

He rolls his hips, lifts dead weight and lets it sink down, and Hannibal hums, breathing in the scent of sex and blood on Will – such a complimentary thing with his natural musk. He is beautiful at all times, but red truly is the most flattering color on him. The blood is drying quickly on Will's heated skin, darkening, growing black.

Black looks good on him, too.

Hannibal lets Will use the body as he likes, his breathing growing heavy, and he angles the knife so that, when Will yanks the body back down, it cuts up.

Will stiffens, his eyes wide. Though Hannibal is sure he can't feel it, it's not an impossible thought that Hannibal might accidentally cut him, while he's still inside.

His lips curl back, showing red teeth, and his eyes flash with an enticing, intrigued spark of excitement. Hannibal drags the knife down, from sternum to navel, and Will's entire body convulses as more blood slicks out behind the knife, staining Hannibal's hand.

He keeps the knife buried to the hilt inside the carcass, meets Will's eyes, and smiles, angling it down. He lets the body rest against his chest, shifts forward so he's more secure, and pushes in with his free hand, between wet intestines, until he finds the stiffer muscle surrounding the colon.

Finds, within it, Will.

Will gasps, surging up as Hannibal wraps a hand around him through the man's body, tightens it like he can mimic the spasms of living flesh. Will's throat flexes as he swallows, and Hannibal guides his knife to press against the edge of his own hand, slip between his forefinger and thumb, and cuts very shallowly.

He knows Will feels it. He whimpers, trembling, and goes still.

"I didn't realize you'd be this angry," he says.

"I'm not angry, my love," Hannibal replies, and that is the truth – Will likes to play with his food. Hannibal likes how good they taste after he does.

Will swallows, his eyes shining, blue and black and brilliant amidst the red. Oh, how beautiful he is, shaking and wanting with Hannibal wrapped around him, inside this man as Will is, threatening him with a knife. He smiles, drags the tip of it down, and then pushes with a grunt, a sharp slice that splits the man's belly open, and the rest of his intestines spill out.

"Oh, _God_ ," Will cries, fucking up through the carcass, into Hannibal's hand. His head tips back, and he breathes as though he's mid-marathon, sprinting towards the finish. Hannibal tightens his hand around Will, around slick, warm flesh, and he sets the knife down on the side of the bed.

"Will," he purrs, and Will whimpers, doesn't open his eyes, but Hannibal knows he's not thinking about this man anymore. His attention, wholly, is on Hannibal; hook, line, and sinker. The innards of the carcass are still burning hot, clinging to life and warmth, and he knows the pressure and heat must be maddening on Will's sensitive skin.

"Are you fucking him bare, darling?" Hannibal asks.

Will swallows. "Always do."

"Good."

Will opens his eyes, stares up at Hannibal – doesn't even spare a glance towards the body he's using, that Hannibal is letting him use, for his own pleasure. "What part of him do you want?" Will breathes, trembling, his hands flexing on the body's hips.

Hannibal smiles. He puts his nose to the man's neck and breathes in again. Tastes the beer he drank, tastes the sweetness of his orgasm and the stain of sweat. "His stomach, I think," he murmurs. Will shivers, and nods. "Will you help me?"

"Yes," Will breathes, and in it is everything; _yes, yes, Hannibal, anything_. He lets Hannibal take his hands, the body's weight propped up against Hannibal's chest, and together, they slide deep into the man's belly, until they find his slick, firm stomach. It is attached, still, to the intestines, to the esophagus, but Will is strong, and Hannibal knows exactly how to twist organs and flesh to maintain the structure of the piece as they tug it out, still-connected.

Will grabs the knife and hands it over, panting heavily, with low-lidded eyes, as Hannibal severs the connecting tissue and frees the stomach from its moorings. He puts the knife down again, gives the stomach to Will, and hauls the man's body off of him.

Will whimpers with loss, his cock so hard it remains upright. Hannibal admires it, crawls into the space between Will's sweet thighs, and wraps his blood- and viscera-wet fingers around Will's cock. Will presses his lips together, lashes fluttering, head tilted back.

"You know what I want, darling," Hannibal says.

Will nods, and hands him the stomach. Hannibal releases his cock to take it, admires the dark-red of the organ, the shine of blood upon it. Truly, it was a healthy thing – Will's nose is getting sharper, his sense of smell more refined. He rarely picks an unsuitable kill, nowadays.

Hannibal turns the stomach, smiling as he works his fingers into the esophageal sphincter, pulling at the tight muscle until it parts. Then, his eyes on Will's face, he turns the stomach over, until the acid and contents within slip out of the pyloric sphincter, which led once to the intestines, onto the floor beside the bed. Onto the carcass' face, for he is not without his pettiness.

Then, once he's sure the innards will not damage Will, he opens the top end again with his fingers, turns it, and works the tight ring of muscle over the head of Will's cock. Will moans openly, his hands flattening over Hannibal's as he sinks Will deep into the stomach. His hips twitch up, his stomach clenching sharply, his chest expanding with a rapid inhale.

"Inside?" he gasps. He's close; Hannibal can smell the flush of him, the rush of his pulse.

Hannibal smiles, and nods, and leans down to nuzzle Will's cock through the meat. He squeezes tightly, able to feel powerful muscle shred themselves on Will's cock, growling when he sees Will's cockhead peeking through the other opening.

He turns his head, and bites through the organ, until Will feels the threat of his teeth.

Will comes like that, messy and heavy, with a long, sated whine. His fingers spasm around Hannibal's, flutter weakly, his eyes closing as he jerks and snarls, flooding the stomach until Hannibal sees his thick, white seed leaking through both ends, and between the holes left by his teeth.

He smiles, and sinks it down further, until Will's cockhead splits the other ring of muscle, and he places a single, chaste kiss over his leaking slit. "Wonderful," he murmurs, and Will whimpers and moans, trembling like a dog post-fight as Hannibal carefully slides the flooded stomach off of his cock, careful to angle it so nothing more spills out. Will's softening cock lands with a slick sound on his red thigh, smeared with blood and come and whatever else comes from a man when he's slit open.

Hannibal rises, cradling the stomach carefully, and sets it within the cooler they keep tucked away, behind the dresser and out of sight. Then, he sheds his clothes, and returns to Will, finds him sitting upright and panting heavily, his tongue showing between his teeth, his mouth red and wet.

"Your seed will flavor him nicely, my love," Hannibal says, and leans down, pets both hands through Will's sweaty, bloody hair. Will smiles at him, no longer playing the part of stranger, of lure – but he is wanton all the same, gazing up at Hannibal with a soft, worshipful look.

But Hannibal is not finished. He hauls Will to his feet by his hair, with a savage tug that makes Will whimper with desire, and puts him on his shaking legs, before he returns to the carcass, lifts it, and settles it on the bed.

He pets through Will's hair again, gentler now, and puts his teeth to his sweet beast's ear; "Get back inside him, darling."

Will gasps, and though he is still weak from his orgasm, he obeys, climbing onto the bed and eyeing his prize. After a moment, he decides what he wants to do, and picks up the knife, carving a little slit between sternum and the hollow between the man's collarbones.

Hannibal admires him, as he climbs atop the man's chest, and feeds his spent cock into the makeshift sheath, groaning, oversensitive. He ruts a few times, and goes still, when Hannibal climbs on behind him and steadies him with hands on his hips.

Hannibal has never been aroused by the idea of Will fucking another man, or woman, or whoever he chooses for the night – but killing that person, watching Will bathe in their blood, having him sweeten their meat with his own essence, that never fails to make him hard. He fucks between Will's thighs, snarling as Will moans, puts both hands over the top of the headboard, lowers his chest to the pillows so he's crushing the carcass' head under his chest, and spreads his legs.

He is not stretched, he is not wet – but he is slick, and Hannibal gathers the blood from Will's hair, wrings it like water from a shower, and spreads it over his cock.

He puts his nails in Will's hips. Puts his teeth in Will's neck. Shoves, unceremoniously, into Will's tight body.

Will howls – a soft, broken noise, his body spasming in pain and reflex as he fights Hannibal's intrusion. But Hannibal will not be denied, and Will is never one to deny him. He fucks in deep, snarls against Will's soiled shoulder, rakes his nails up Will's thighs and his chest, his flanks, everywhere he imagines that man might have touched.

Every thrust from him forces Will into his prize, makes the skin split wider and slick him up, and Will is trembling, oversensitive and raw, his head tipped back to Hannibal's shoulder and his eyes glazed, staring wide up at the ceiling.

"Fuck, _Hannibal_ ," he cries, convulsing as Hannibal fucks him, the sweet call of his body thrumming into Hannibal's hands, through his cock. He growls, grabs the knife and puts it against Will's stomach, the flat of the blade pressing with impotent threat. He would never harm Will, of course he wouldn't, but the promise of steel makes Will scream, head dropping, hips working back frantically as if his body can only be pierced one way, and he chooses this way, trying to appease the monster in Hannibal even as Hannibal fucks the beast in Will.

"You are divine, my love," Hannibal breathes, his orgasm biting savagely at the back of his neck, wanting more, wanting in, _in_ , into his sweet beast, deep inside Will. He can push deeper with his cock than he would ever dare with knife, with his hands. Bruise him on the inside and rip him to pieces.

"Hannibal, please, _please_." Will lets go of the headboard, puts all his weight on his knees and his face, nuzzling the ruined pillows, one hand in Hannibal's hair now, the other holding his knife tight enough, sharp enough, the blade cuts into his fingers. New blood, hot and fresh and alive, stains their hands. "Oh, _God_ , I love you so much, baby, you're so good. Please, _please_ , fuck me."

Hannibal closes his eyes, shivers and snarls, and drops the knife so it lands on the carcass' neck, grabs tight over Will's blood-sticky throat, bites him until he tastes only Will – Will keeps his hair long, so his prey can't see the evidence; they might pretend Will is theirs, they might fall for the trap, but behind the lure is the hunter, ready to devour them.

"Fuck me," Will rasps, tight from Hannibal's grip on him. Hannibal growls, and bites harder, bruising sweet flesh, tugging until blood vessels burst and surge up, swollen, between his teeth. Will sounds like a man on the edge of madness, hoarse and loud and raw. His ass clenches up tightly as Hannibal's cock finds his prostate, butts against it mercilessly, and he bears down, too overwhelmed to stop his body shivering and convulsing through a second orgasm.

Hannibal shudders, smelling more of Will's come, dips his head so he can see it slip through the cut he made, pooling in the man's throat and knows it will drip down, between his ribs, seasoning his heart and lungs. He will take those, too, he decides – he would never waste any of Will.

He goes still, close to the edge, and Will cries out again, reaches back and claws at Hannibal's hips.

"No. Inside, inside me." He shoves his hips back, turns his head and snarls against Hannibal's cheek. "Don't let it fucking touch him."

Hannibal smiles. "Greedy thing," he purrs. Will merely smiles, slack and wanting, and licks a streak of blood from Hannibal's jaw.

"You're mine," he hisses. "I'll kill you if you put any of yourself in him."

Hannibal doesn't doubt it – their love, their jealousy, is a complex thing, but the borders of it are something they both understand. Hannibal doesn't view Will's hunting method as infidelity, for whatever he gives to another, he feeds right back to Hannibal, richer for the experience.

Hannibal growls when Will bites his jaw, claws at his hips, and he fucks in again, pulling Will's spent, limp body from the carcass, and throws him to a spare spot on the bed. Still, it is damp, still it is red with their kill, and he shoves Will tight to his belly, covers him, and bites him as he fucks in to the hilt and comes.

Will sighs, shivering in satisfaction, turns his head and nuzzles Hannibal's wet hair as Hannibal finishes inside him. When he pulls out, Will lifts his hips, eager to keep it all in, not to waste a single drop, and Hannibal smiles, kisses his lovely beast's heaving back, and pets through his hair.

"I'd like to take the heart and lungs, since you so graciously added flavor to them."

Will nods, spent and sated and unwilling to move. It is no matter – he turns his head as Hannibal takes up the knife, so he can watch as Hannibal opens the cut Will made further, and dips his hands beneath the rib cage, slices through the diaphragm and tenderly pulls the heart and lungs from the corpse.

Will smiles at him, and lifts his head to kiss the man's come-streaked heart, his eyes wide and beautiful as he looks up at Hannibal when he does it. So, too, he blesses the lungs with another kiss, and Hannibal brings them to the cooler as well, sets them down inside, and returns to Will as he rolls onto his back with another soft, happy sound.

Hannibal kisses him, now, deeply, tasting blood and viscera on Will's tongue. Beneath it, Will's beer. Beneath that, Will himself, sweet and warm, blooming fresh like revived flowers in springtime.

Will smiles at him, prettily, his claws sheathed once again, the red, ravenous desire in his eyes held back, content to wait for Hannibal to prepare their meal and feed him. He sits up when Hannibal pulls on his hair, gasping, and kisses again – to Hannibal's chest, to his neck – stands, to wrap his arms around Hannibal's shoulders, and lets their lips meet.

Hannibal growls, letting it linger, for he knows Will never kisses his kills. Kissing is an act of love, and one doesn't make love to a pig on its way to slaughter.

He embraces Will gently, nuzzles his wet, curling hair, and Will laughs; it comes as a bubbling thing, subdued, and then louder, as Will lights up with joy and satisfaction, seeing Hannibal's pride and pleasure and mirroring it back like sunlight on water.

"Would you like help disposing of the body?" Hannibal asks.

Will hums, and shakes his head, looks with low-lidded eyes to the ruined carcass that was once a man. "I got it," he says, and drags his fingers down Hannibal's chest. "I'm hungry. Feed me."

Hannibal's smile widens, and he parts from Will with one last long, deep kiss. For what he wants to make, he will need to start right away: it will be finished, as Will completes his task. "As you wish, my love."


End file.
